


Wincest Shorts

by celestialsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Poetry, Shorts, Supernatural - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform, one shots, samdean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:12:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialsam/pseuds/celestialsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wincest one shots and poetry, mostly, because I write too many of them. Also, they're called shorts for a reason, but I write a ton of them, so hopefully that makes up for it</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pit

You see a pit  
And you see yourself falling.  
Day by day you see yourself falling  
A little deeper.  
There’s motel rooms and road signs and  
Whispered words in the dark.  
There’s legs tangled together sometimes  
And it’s wrong.  
You see fire and blood and death and  
None of that  
Is in this pit.  
This pit of longing, this pit of sin  
The unholy pit  
That you know you will never be able to climb out of.  
But he is at the bottom of this pit  
And so you jump.


	2. Heroes

In school we were asked “Who is your hero?” and we had to write an essay about it. We were in the sixth grade, not the second, and this seemed like a writing prompt for second.   
I was shit at writing essays anyways.  
But this one was different, since I didn’t even have to consider what to write about. I heard the word “hero” and I thought leather jackets, I thought green eyes, I thought endless days swimming on the riverbanks just last week while he splashed bits of water at my head. I thought, and I could only think, of nights on the open road where nothing else in the world existed other than a dirty blanket and his hands. Nothing else was real except the sound of him breathing. I heard “hero” and I thought, “’brother’ is a good synonym.”  
And when I turned the essay in, the teacher asked me why I’d written a love letter.


	3. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of emotions about the hug in 10x14. This happened.

Dean remembers the first time he held Sam.   
He barely remembers it, but the memory is there all the same. He thinks about it occasionally; how, when Mary told him he had a little brother now, Dean couldn't wait and reached out for Sam. Naturally. And Mary laughed and let him hold his brother, gently, supporting the head, like she did. And Dean mostly remembers the pride he felt in that moment, the feeling of protectiveness, the strong feeling of comforting another human being, just with the warmth of your touch.   
Dean held Sam a lot after that.  
As a baby, as a kid, (they hugged a lot.) When Sam had his first bully, and he came home crying about being made fun of because he had no one to make a card for for Mother's Day. Dean had held him, so strong and so sure, that time and all the times after that. And it was usually silent, but it spoke in paragraphs; legions of words through touch.  
"Itsokaylittlebrothergonnabejustfineivegotyouillholdyouandicancarryyou"  
And all it really needed to say was that Dean was Sam's other half, connected to him by his soul, and that was that.  
Sam and Dean hugged less often over the years, but still, when things got bad, they would pull into each other's arms and the unspoken mantra would be whispered around them to the tune of their beating hearts, neither of them having to say a word.  
Sam hugged Dean too.  
And this time, this last time, it wasn't so much of a hug as it was a fall; Dean falling into Sam's arms, and Sam, catching him, always.   
It was the bloodied tears of a broken man as he looked into his brother's eyes, calling out for help.   
It was Sam forgiving him.  
It was unspoken all around them that night, Sam whispering prayers of "itsgoingtobeokaywecanfixthisyouarestrong" with his body alone, and Dean not believing it himself, but it was enough that Sam believed in him. Sam always had believed enough for the both of them.  
It was the sad melody of the older brother falling into the younger's arms, it was their souls falling into place again. It was broken, and it was far overdue, and for now, it was enough.


	4. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally gonna add a bunch of chapters to this! Anyways this one is just a thing from when I really wanted to write about heartbeats. Yeah.

Sam kisses Dean sometimes, and he doesn't kiss him for the normal reasons that people that kiss each other usually do.  
When Sam kisses his brother it isn't because he wants to moan into his mouth or feel Dean get hard against him or have Dean sucking on his bottom lip.  
He kisses him because sometimes he needs to feel the weight of his brother's body against his, needs to feel his heartbeat through his chest. Hear his pulse; steady, pounding, beating, on and on like it has his whole life. The constant noise in the background of Sam's existence has always been Dean's heartbeat, and the reminder that Dean is alive. Sometimes he just needs to be reminded that Dean is here, Dean is real, and he isn't leaving. Dean's the one thing Sam's always had by his side, and sometimes he needs to know it'll never go away.


	5. How It Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like this one

Hands grasping for each other in the dark. Fumbling legs, unspoken words hanging in the air. Bones thrumming, blood running under skin. The thoughts and wants tumbling around like weeds, never really settling. Quick glances at each other in the driver's seat of a sleek, black car. Eyes meeting, conveying more emotion in one look, than most people could say in hours.  
This was what love felt like for Sam.  
He never could put a time on the exact moment he knew it wasn't right, but by the time he did he was too far gone. Too deep into Dean's eyes, his soul shoved too deep under Dean's skin. Two hands clinging desperately to each other in the middle of the night, while the dark world tried to pry them apart.  
And it never could, not in the end.  
-  
Burning hot skin in summers and hazel eyes that ghosted over his body at times. Pink lips that he definitely was not thinking about kissing, long fingers that he definitely was not thinking of grabbing. A thin, lanky body, and a smile brighter than the Texas sun in August, and the only thing he'd ever known.   
Dean had sworn to protect, and he wasn't giving up on that now.  
This was what love felt like for Dean. But Sam was a kid. He couldn't, he...-   
That was the other, probably the most important thing about love for Dean. The want. The wanting that he could never suppress, no matter how hard he tried.  
The boy was still there, and the lips were still there, and by the time he was sixteen all Dean was was wantwantwant. And maybe it was all he'd ever been.


	6. What Dean Thinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is really short? But it's more poetry-y. idk.

If Sam is a sin,  
Then Dean's going to hell.  
Because he can't really help himself  
When Sam's lips are like poison on his tongue,  
And sometimes he can almost taste the sin there.  
In Sam's hands he feels the wrongness,  
He feels it threatening to slip its tendrils around his neck and hold him down.  
He feels the guilt hanging above his head,  
Ready to crush him.  
On Sam's hips, he can feel every law they're breaking.  
The thoughts are still above him at all times,  
The "you're corrupting him,"  
"this is fucked up,"  
and the worst, "he doesn't really want this."  
And Dean would give in,  
If it weren't for Sam's hazel eyes gazing with so much love it tears at Dean's chest,  
Painfully obvious how much he loves him.  
That, Dean thinks,  
Is the reason he's doing this.  
He can't resist Sam either.  
And is he still going to hell?


	7. Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular belief, Sam Winchester does not have a favorite song.

Sam doesn't have a favorite song.  
Dean plays plenty of songs, and they're all from the same three bands. Dean could pick a favorite off of every single album. And Sam loves Led Zeppelin; he loves ACDC just as much as the next guy. It's just, when he's driving with Dean, all of the chords and basslines sort of blend into one.  
He hears it, but he doesn't really listen.  
He looks over at his brother, he stares out the window and watches the world roll by, he hums along in his head but he never really knows all the lyrics. Because here, in the passenger seat with Dean, is the only home he's ever known. Here, with Dean by his side, with his smile lighting up the dark roads at night, is where Sam knows the best.  
When his Dean laughs and Sam feels that familiar warmth in his heart, so warm; too warm to be felt for his own brother. That's when he knows.  
After all, how could he truly listen to the music when he's too busy trying to read Dean's face, memorize him; know him down to the very core.  
Sam's pretty sure he does.  
Sam's pretty sure that he would recognize his brother's voice in a crowd of thousands, could pick apart the shade of green in Dean's eyes, even in a hundred acre forest. Sam's pretty sure he has every freckle on Dean's face memorized, and it kills him to know that he'll never get to press his lips against his very favorite one, the one on the top of Dean's right cheekbone.


	8. Looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to describe this one but I like it

He's there and he's real and he's only fifteen. He's fifteen and he only just had his first kiss a few months ago, and Dean is wishing it was with him. Dean is cursing himself and the thought for even crossing his mind, but Sam's lips are pink and his body is thin and he has those hazel eyes that Dean could just drown in. On top of it, he's funny, and he's sweet, and he's only been in this world for a decade and a half but he's the most selfless person Dean's ever known. And.  
Baby brother. /Baby brother/, Dean thinks to himself, but it doesn't stop him from thinking of how soft Sam's lips must feel. Or wondering how his hair must feel at the very nape of his neck; how his body would feel pressed against his back. It doesn't stop him from wanting, and it should. No matter how many times Dean screams /brother, brother, he's your BROTHER/ the thoughts won't go away.  
Dean's started to condemn himself to a lifetime of want and sin, when Sam kisses him.  
He kisses him on a hot summer day in Indiana, and his lips are just as soft, if not softer, as Dean had imagined. And it doesn't matter how it happened, the only thing that matters is how when Sam pulls away, he looks Dean in the eye and asks. His look says a thousand words, but the most important are, /is this okay? Are we okay?/   
Dean's smile is yes. It's always been yes.


	9. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SELF HARM TW sorry,, I wrote this while half asleep

Sam's clawing at his chest. He doesn't know what he's trying to do, only that he needs to be rid of this feeling. The gnawing, aching feeling of something you can't have, the slow and evil burn of loving.   
He does it however he can, with knives or razors or, once, with matches. It isn't always his chest, but most of the time it is, even though that's not the usual place to cut yourself. He chooses his chest because that's where the feeling is. It's where the feeling bubbles up inside of him, warm and burning and threatening to spill over, if he doesn't shut it down quick. And he tries to. He tries so goddamn hard to tear his eyes away, to control his wandering hands. He tries to not lean into his brother's touch every time, but his body wants something else. Scars and scratches are the only way Sam can keep a hold on it, the only way he knows how.  
And it doesn't work.  
No matter what he does, no matter how hard he pulls away, Dean is still always there. He's there, brighter than a flame, smile lighting up Sam's universe and a face more beautiful than anything he's ever seen. He knows that his brother is conventionally beautiful, he would know it even if he didn't have the feeling; but Sam's had the sensation long before Dean's body filled out and his jawline sharpened.  
Sam fell in love with the boy who read him bedtime stories, who used to pull the splinters out of his wrists. He fell in love with the way he said Sam's name, with his careful hands and infinitely more careful looks. He guesses he's known it before he even knew what love was, and if he believed more in destiny he'd say it started on the day Dean had pulled him out of the fire. And maybe it had.   
Sam doesn't care. He still feels the fire, he still feels Dean's skin. He still feels the tension and the aching and the wanting, because he's learned to live with it.


End file.
